


Christmas Presents

by riverlight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-09-05
Updated: 2004-09-05
Packaged: 2017-10-23 00:33:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/244292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riverlight/pseuds/riverlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>Potter blinks at him. "What? Malfoy, Death Eaters don't celebrate Christmas!" He trips and lands in a snowbank.</i></p><p><i>"Of course they do, Potter," Draco says, pulling him upright and brushing snow out of his hair. "Very gloomy things, really, Death Eater Christmases. Lots of mulled cider and mistletoe and sugar cookies shaped like the Dark Mark, and every year someone dresses up like Voldemort and puts presents in our shoes, which is fun, at least. But there's always the occasional Dark ritual to put us in the 'proper holiday spirit', and then we have to 'bring Christmas cheer to the Muggles,' and that just ruins the whole season." Draco fishes a Gladys Codswallop's Magical Sugarplum out of his pocket and pops it into his mouth. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas Presents

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I did indeed make this up from my own brain. (Ceremonial dagger, what?) So, in other words: disclaimed, disclaimed!

"Potter," he asks, gazing up at the stars Potter has charmed onto the ceiling of his dorm room, "do you trust me?"

Potter turns over. "Mmph," he says sleepily, and pokes Draco in the side. "I let you sleep with that bloody great knife next to the bed, don't I?"

Draco pokes him back. "Ceremonial dagger, Potter, please." Potter snorts. "So you trust me, do you?"

"'Well," he says, and now his eyes are open and he's grinning up at Draco, "I figure you could have killed me hundreds of times by now, but you haven't, so I guess maybe you're trustworthy." He pauses. "Maybe." His hand darts out from under the covers and he squeezes Draco just above the knee. Draco makes an undignified sound, and Potter laughs. "Why?"

Draco smacks his hand away. "Lie still."

Potter leans up on his elbows. "Lie still?" He raises his eyebrows. "Are we going to play some sort of kinky sex game?" He snickers and nudges Draco's feet with his. "What, Malfoy, twice in one day isn't enough? I'm impressed."

Draco rolls his eyes. "I told you, lie still." Potter quirks an eyebrow at him, but he leans back into the pillows all the same. Draco reaches over to the bedside table, picks up his dagger, grabs Potter's wrist, and slices across his palm.

Potter jerks upright and glares at him. _"Jesus._ Ow. Fuck, Malfoy, what the _fuck_ was that for?"

"Relax, Potter," he says. "Don't be such a baby, it's just a cut. Besides, it's for a good cause." He smiles reassuringly and smears the blood from the dagger onto his finger. Potter's eyes are still wary, but the shock is fading from his face. He watches intently as Draco reaches out and traces a rune on his forehead, then spits into his own palm and writes something there as well, whispering in Latin.

Potter shudders once, violently, and rubs his forehead. "Bloody hell, what was that?" he says, examining his fingers, which are clean. He clambers over Draco's legs and crawls out of bed to peer in the mirror. "What did you do, Malfoy?"

"Well 'ello there, luv, don't you look handsome," says the mirror breathlessly, and Draco snorts.

"Only you would have a mirror that flirts with you, Potter," he says. Potter rolls his eyes. "Come back to bed. We've only got two more nights, I don't intend to waste them."

Potter glances at him over his shoulder, raising his eyebrows. "Don't blame me. You're the one who said we couldn't sleep together during term time."

Draco sighs. "I know, Potter, yes, you're right, of course. Come on." Potter glances in the mirror once more, then flops down on his side of the bed.

"Brrr, it's freezing." He pushes closer against Draco, shivering, and twines their legs together. "Cast a heating charm, would you? I'm crap at them."

"Well, it is almost Christmas. What do you want for Christmas, Potter?" He pulls the blankets more securely around them.

Potter narrows his eyes. "No way, Malfoy, you're not changing the subject that easily. Come on, spill. What did you just do to me?"

Draco reaches over and slides a book from the pile on the nightstand, tossing it in Potter's lap. Potter looks at it a moment, then looks back at him, amused.

 _"Liber Voluptatis,_ hm?" he says. "The Book of Pleasure. So I was right, it _is_ some kind of kinky sex game." He laughs and burrows deeper into the blankets. "Well, Malfoy, some people may like knives, but I'm not one of them. Traumatising experiences with evil madmen, and all that. This had better be worth it."

Draco raises an eyebrow and looks down at him. "As for that, you'll have to wait and see. I'm certainly not telling you." He smirks. "Consider it an early Christmas present."

Harry pouts. "Come on, Draco," he wheedles, "you _know_ you want to tell me." He leers outrageously and flutters his eyelashes. "I'll be _very_ nice to you if you do…"

Draco pokes him in the side, and he sticks his tongue out and flops spread-eagled onto the center of the bed. "Come on, Potter," Draco says, "I told you, you'd have to wait and see. I know I'm brilliant in bed, and all, but three times a day is too much even for me." He yawns. "Besides, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep." He slides under the covers and mutters a charm so that a magicked cloud slides in front of the magicked moon on Potter's ceiling. Potter chuckles and curls up against his back.

The room is quiet, and the only sound is Hagrid's dog in the distance, barking at the moon. Then Potter's voice drifts to him out of the darkness. "Malfoy, can we go to Hogsmeade tomorrow to look at the Christmas trees?"

"Sure, Potter," he says sleepily. Potter falls silent and cuddles closer.

"Malfoy, what do you want to do for New Year's?"

Draco sighs. "I don't know, Potter, I'll tell you tomorrow. Go to sleep, will you?"

Potter smiles against his neck. "Goodnight, Malfoy," he says.

"Night, Potter," says Draco, and drifts into sleep.

* * *

When he wakes up, Potter is gone, but there's a note on the floor, weighted down, he is amused to note, with the _Liber Voluptatis._

 _"Draco,"_

it says, _"I've gone to Hagrid's for tea; you can join me if you like. I know his cooking's not quite up to the standards of the venerable Malfoy house elves, but it's really not so bad, and I did warn you not to eat that biscuit last time. Oh well, I suppose I shall forgive you if you don't want to come. Anyway, meet me outside the Broomsticks at 3—you did promise, you know. And don't come find me beforehand; I'm doing my Christmas shopping._

 _Harry_

 _PS—Enjoy the candy cane."_

 

As soon as he finishes reading, the note transfigures itself into a green-and-red striped candy cane. Draco glances out the window, where he can just see Harry down by the Forest, throwing a stick for Hagrid's monster of a dog. Even from here, he can see that Harry's laughing. Draco grins and sticks the candy cane into his mouth. After a moment, he grabs his cloak, sticks his dagger into his boot, and goes off to find his broomstick.

* * *

When Potter comes up to him where he's leaning against the wall of the Three Broomsticks, he is smiling, his eyes sparkling and cheeks flushed from the cold. He is wearing a fuzzy hat with a large pompom on top.

"Nice hat, Potter," Draco says. "Where are your packages? Didn't you manage to get any shopping done at all?"

"It's a perfectly nice hat," he says, stoutly. "Mrs. Weasley made if for me last winter. And yes, I got my shopping done, thank you very much. I Reducio'd the packages," he adds, patting his pockets. "Come on, you promised me we could look at the Christmas trees."

Draco raises his eyebrows. "I didn't promise you anything," he points out. "You just said you wanted to go."

"Oh, come on, Malfoy." Harry elbows him. "Humor me just this once, won't you please? You can't not like Christmas."

"Okay, Potter, fine, get going," Draco says, shoving him to get him walking. "Besides, I can too not like Christmas. You wouldn't either, if you'd been made to sit through Death Eater Christmas celebrations year after year."

Potter blinks at him. "What? Malfoy, Death Eaters don't celebrate Christmas!" He trips and lands in a snowbank.

"Of course they do, Potter," Draco says, pulling him upright and brushing snow out of his hair. "Very gloomy things, really, Death Eater Christmases. Lots of mulled cider and mistletoe and sugar cookies shaped like the Dark Mark, and every year someone dresses up like Voldemort and puts presents in our shoes, which is fun, at least. But there's always the occasional Dark ritual to put us in the 'proper holiday spirit', and then we have to 'bring Christmas cheer to the Muggles,' and that just ruins the whole season." Draco fishes a Gladys Codswallop's Magical Sugarplum out of his pocket and pops it into his mouth.

Potter stops stock-still, nearly getting run over by a witch with carrier-bags full of what looks to be the entire contents of the Hogsmeade shops. "Malfoy," he says suspiciously, "you're having me on." Draco grins at him, licking the powdered sugar from his fingers, and shrugs innocently.

"Malfoy!" Potter wails, "You're a git, you know that?" He steps aside to dodge a house-elf with bells sewn on the end of its hat. "Come on, you had fun with us last year, didn't you?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Oh yes, Potter," he says, "Christmas with the Order, that's _such_ fun. Dumbledore dressed up like St. Nicholas and Mad-Eye Moody getting drunk on the eggnog and making a pass at me whilst the entire Weasley clan watched."

Potter sighs. "Malfoy, it only happened once. And he apologised afterwards. He felt awful about it next morning." He shrugs. "Anyway, I bet your parents gave you tons of presents."

Draco brightens. "Well, that's true. I bet _you_ never got an entire clan of Wyverns to breed when you were eight, Potter. Or an illegal flying carpet when you were ten."

"Nope, you're right," Potter says blithely, and drags them to a stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "Look, Malfoy, isn't that neat?"

Draco looks at the huge tree in the window. The decorations have been charmed to resemble miniature Quidditch players, and they're currently engaged in an energetic game, darting amongst the fairy lights and falling, panting, onto the tree branches as they get tired. He peers closer, and notices that they're wearing miniature scarves in Slytherin and Gryffindor colors. The Seeker for the Gryffindor team has on a suspicious-looking hat.

"Very nice, Potter," he says. "Though that's nothing compared to the Malfoy family tree, of course."

"Oh, of _course,"_ Potter drawls. "Well, Malfoy, we can't all be the sons of fabulously rich pureblood families." He nudges Draco with his elbow. "Come on. We'll just go up the other side of the street and then we can go get butterbeers in The Three Broomsticks."

By the time they settle into their seats by the fire twenty minutes later, they have seen three more Christmas trees with their charmed decorations, an entire miniature Hogwarts made out of gingerbread in the window of Honeydukes, and a group of snowmen who are stopping on every corner and singing carols very loudly. Harry is beaming. Draco supposes it wasn't _that_ bad, really.

"Wotcher, Harry," says Rosmerta cheerfully, bringing over two butterbeers. "Nice hat." Draco grins.

"Ta, Rosmerta," says Harry. He winds his scarf around the back of his chair and slides one of the bottles across the table.

Draco uncorks it and lets it steam a little before taking a sip. "So, Potter," he says. "What did you get me for Christmas?"

"Nice try, Malfoy," he says. "I'm not telling you." He pauses, and a wicked gleam comes into his eyes. "Though I did find a nice book on ancient Roman Arithmancy for Hermione; perhaps that might interest you?"

"Hah bloody hah." Draco scowls. "I never want to see another book on the bloody Romans again."

"Oh come on," Harry says. "You didn't do _that_ badly. It was just one essay."

Draco snorts. "Yes, and it ruined my good record in that class forever."

Harry waves his hand and tilts his chair back. "Your marks can stand it. So, what did you get _me,_ then?"

Draco takes a drink. "Well," he says, leaning forward, letting his voice go low and intimate, "you got the beginning last night. The rest comes... later."

Harry narrows his eyes. Suddenly all his attention is focused on Draco. "Oh, is that so?" he says. His cheeks are flushed.

"Mmhm," Draco says. He flicks his tongue over his lips. Harry's Adam's apple bobs.

Harry leans across the table too. "Draco Malfoy's Sex Runes, huh?" he says, his voice rough. "I think I'm going to enjoy this."

"Oh, I definitely think so, Potter," Draco drawls. He draws his finger idly through the spilled butterbeer on the table, then writes two runes on the tabletop. Potter jumps.

"What was _that?"_ he hisses.

"Oh, it worked, did it?" Draco arches an eyebrow.

"I'll say it did," Harry growls. "Do it again." Draco does, and Harry shudders. "God, Malfoy."

"Now now, Potter, control yourself," Draco murmurs. "We can't have the good citizens of Hogsmeade noticing anything amiss, now, can we?"

Harry smiles shakily. "Good point. So, talk to me."

"What shall I say?" Draco asks, and draws another rune on the tabletop.

Harry's eyes go unfocussed. "Umm…" He's staring at Draco's hands. "Tell me what you're going to do while I'm at Ron's."

"Oh, I can see this is going to be a fascinating conversation." Draco rubs his thumb and fingers together. "Well, I thought I'd work on my Potions essay, for a start. Maybe do a little visiting with Snape."

"Uh huh," says Potter, biting his lip. "You're going to get him drunk, you mean." Draco makes a show of drumming his fingers on the table for a moment, then writes three runes in quick succession. Harry's eyes widen and he presses his palms flat to the table, but he doesn't make a sound. His eyes are locked on Draco's.

"Come now, Potter," Draco says. "I can't be breaking with tradition, now, can I? We Slytherins are quite fond of tradition. And I've gotten Snape soused on Christmas three years running. It's quite enjoyable, really."

Potter's voice is shaky. "Yeah. Nothing like… a little…drunken student-teacher bonding to brighten the holidays." He shudders again and bites his lip. "Malfoy, can we _please_ get out of here?"

Draco smirks. "I'm sorry, what did you say?" Potter's glaring at him now. He brings his finger to his lips and sucks off the traces of butterbeer. Potter's eyes widen.

Harry shoves his chair back and it topples over, coming dangerously near the fire. "Malfoy, if we don't leave now, I'm not going to be answerable for my actions. _Please."_

"Why, Potter," he says, brushing against him on the pretext of righting his fallen chair. "I rather like it when you beg. Now let's get out of here."

* * *

Outside, Draco reflects that it is lucky darkness comes so quickly in the winter, because Harry has him shoved up against a wall with his tongue in Draco's mouth. His hands are fumbling at Draco's zip, clumsy with the cold, and then his hand is in Draco's trousers. Draco hisses and Harry bites his neck. "Christ, Malfoy," he growls, and pins both of Draco's hands to the wall with one of his own. His other hand is occupied with more interesting pursuits further down; Draco thinks his brain might explode. The air is cold and Harry's hand is hot and he's stroking frantically and kissing him hard enough to bruise, and Draco is coming before he can think, moaning into Harry's mouth. "You're lucky I didn't didn't do that to you right there on the table," Harry growls, and then he's rubbing against him and shuddering as he comes.

Harry leans against him, trembling. His hands are cold against Draco's neck, and he has snowflakes in his eyelashes. Draco nudges Harry's hips with his, and Harry laughs. "Jesus, Malfoy," he manages after a moment, his breath warm on Draco's lips. "If that's your idea of a proper Christmas present, it's no wonder Parkinson's still pining after you."

Draco laughs and bumps his nose gently against Harry's. "Pansy never got anything anywhere near this good, Potter," he says, and kisses him. "Come on, let's go somewhere warm."

* * *

When Draco wakes up there's a note again, this time laid carefully on the center of his desk. Potter's clothes are gone. He frowns.

 _"Draco,"_

it says, in Harry's sprawling handwriting, _"I had to fight your wardrobe for custody of my trousers this morning, I'll have you know. Whatever possessed you to charm it to bite people? Or is it some ancestral piece you inherited from one of those crazy relatives of yours? (If that's the case, I'm not surprised; bloody mad, the lot of you.) Anyway—what with battling the furniture and crawling around under the bed looking for my glasses, I am frightfully late, so forgive me for not waking you. I shall just have to make it up to you when I see you next._

 _I've borrowed that book. I know, I know, I'll take care of it, don't get your knickers in a twist. (Are you even wearing knickers yet?) I'm going to repay you for last night, you know. So watch out._

 _Okay, I'm going to go before Ron gets it into his head to come look for me. I'll see you on the New Year. Happy Christmas.  
Love, Harry."_


End file.
